


Call Boy

by linefaced



Category: Persona 4
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4658040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linefaced/pseuds/linefaced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Souji learns something from every client, both about them, and about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hanamura

“You have two new messages from Sunday, April 10th, 2016. First message, from 3:45 P.M.”

“Hey, uh... God, I hope this is the right number. Um, I was... I was hoping you could—Shit, what am I doing?”

_Click._

“Next message, from 3:55 P.M.”

“Um, sorry about that. It's me again, uh. Look, I saw your ad, and I wanted to... uh. Fuck. I am _not_ drunk enough for this—Oh! Wait, shit, no, I didn't mean it like that, I don't want to fuck. Well, I mean... I might? But I'm not sure yet. Ah, jeez, I probably sound like a serial killer or something. I’m not, I swear. Sorry, look, um, I don't know when you might have time, but I'll be hanging around at the Usagi bar in Ni-chome this week. Uh, I'll hang out on the fifth floor balcony if you'd like to meet up. I-If you're interested, I mean.

...I totally get it if you're not.”

 

* * *

 

Souji's not sure what drives him to show up at Usagi on Monday night, because normally, better judgment would keep him from even considering it. The guy didn't give a name, didn't describe himself, gave no details about what he wanted, nothing. But the voicemail on his phone was pathetic in a way that he knows instinctively wasn't faked, and if he's being _completely_ honest with himself, the guy sounds young. Young doesn't necessarily mean “hot”, and Souji knows that, but all the middle-aged salarymen are starting to run together in his head and he needs something else to look at.

It takes him almost no time to find Voicemail on the fifth floor. The cool night air on the balcony is refreshing after the packed body heat in the lower levels of the club, and Souji stands back long enough to let his eyes drink his new client in. He's tall—not as tall as Souji, but almost no one is as tall as Souji save for the foreigners that hang around Tokyo—and _god_ , he's handsome. His jaw is sharp, and he's skinny as a rail but masculine in a way that unexpectedly sends Souji's heart pumping. He's glancing around himself nervously, clutching at a drink in shaking hands, and Souji feels a stab of pity. He was planning to be here all _week_? Every night, just standing on the balcony and wondering when and _if_ his whore might show up?

Looking at him, Souji doubts he'd have even lasted the rest of the night. He sighs and finishes the glass of water he grabbed from the bar—he has a strict “no alcohol” rule for clients he's never met—and steps across the balcony.

The secret Souji never tells anyone is that he's never sure what face to put on before he meets a new client for the first time. Even if they describe to him exactly in storybook-level detail what it is they want him to be, what it is they want him to _do,_  first impressions are always the most important and he's always afraid he'll screw it up. So they want him to be the confident playboy, but what if he's  _too_ confident? If they want a shy virgin, what if he's too shy, too nervous?

Sometimes Souji wonders if he over-thinks too much to be a whore. (The irony of wondering isn't lost on him, either.)

He decides “disarmingly friendly” is probably the tactic to take with Voicemail, because he looks like a terrified deer about to bolt at any second. But he's also a very handsome deer, and Souji isn't about to let him get away. So he puts on a warm, gentle smile, and takes care not to surprise him in his approach, walking slowly but with purpose. Voicemail spots him once he's a few feet away, and _stares_ in a way that's an amusing mix of desperation, hunger, and fear. Souji raises a hand in greeting.

“I got your voicemail,” he says, and the man flinches, a blush spreading instantly across his cheeks.

“Uh, yeah, I'm... really sorry about that,” he sputters nervously, his fingers twitching around the glass he's clutching like a lifeline. “I've never really, um, y'know...”

“Hired anyone?” Souji suggests before he can dig himself deeper. He moves to stand next to him, close, but not too close. _You have to keep them comfortable when they're nervous._

“It's okay,” he continues, keeping his tone even, “it can be pretty nerve-wracking. You never know what you're going to get, right? Hopefully I'm what you were expecting.”

 _Change the subject, direct it toward you, be just self-deprecating enough that they forget their nervousness long enough to comfort_ you, _instead._

Souji's got this down to an art form. He could practically create a flowchart with everything he’s learned about how to talk to clients.

“N-No!” Voicemail says hurriedly; too hurriedly to realize what he was responding to. “Wait, I mean, yes! You are. You're perfect!” He blurts out the last words before he can stop himself, and his cheeks darken even further. Souji’s not sure he’s going to have the blood left for anything else, at this rate. But he’s also flattered, because Voicemail reeks of a horrible, naive sincerity, and Souji’s pretty sure that even for just a moment, he’d actually meant what he’d said.

The temptation to tease him is strong, because Voicemail is adorable when he’s flustered like this, but Souji knows that might drive him away, so instead he reaches inside himself and pulls out an earnest, warm smile.

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you think so,” he says. It works like a charm, and Voicemail relaxes. Souji leans against the railing and catches his eye.

“I’m Souji,” he says. No last name, nothing unnecessary. _Nothing they don’t need to know._ He’s got a fake name he gives people he trusts less, but Voicemail looks like a strong wind might knock him over, so his real, given name would be fine. But he also decides it might be safe to tease him, just a little. “I don’t think I caught your name, though, and I’m not sure I should be calling you Voicemail all night.”

His comment earns another blush, but Voicemail seems less inclined to run off at a moment’s notice, and instead inclines his head a bit.

“I’m Hanamura Yosuke. Sorry, I probably should have said that a lot sooner.” He apologizes, but seems less shaken by his faux pas this time. “But you’re just… Souji? That’s it?”

Souji feels a sudden stab of irritation. He’s not sure where it came from, but he doesn’t suppress it fast enough, and so he says, too sharply, “Why do you need to know anything else?”

Hanamura gives him a look that cycles from startled to hurt to guilty, and Souji immediately feels bad for the outburst, especially since he can’t pinpoint the reason behind it.

_He’s asking too many questions for someone who just wants to fuck me._

“Sorry,” Souji apologizes before Hanamura can. “How about we get out of here?”

 

* * *

 

Hanamura’s nerves spike all over again as soon as the hotel door closes behind them. Souji’s just starting to regret agreeing to this, thinking it might end up being more work than the payoff is worth. The salarymen are almost easier; they show up, pay, get what they want, and leave. They don’t try to make extraneous conversation or need to be coaxed out of their pants.

“Listen,” he says with a frown. “If you’re not up for this, I kind of need to know—”

He’s cut off when Hanamura grabs him, pushes him none-too-gently against the wall, and kisses him. Souji’s startled enough that he doesn’t know how to react, but Hanamura’s kiss is so full of raw desperation and _hunger_ that Souji breaks another one of his rules—no kissing unless it’s specifically requested—and kisses him back.

For all of Hanamura’s nervousness, he’s admittedly good at this, and Souji, to his surprise, feels himself practically melting against Hanamura’s body, grinding their hips together like he’s a horny teenager again. This wasn’t exactly the way he’d expected this to go, either; Hanamura’s nerves had seemed like they were going to eat him alive, and Souji fully expected to need to take the lead here, but the second Hanamura tangles a hand into his hair he drops the thought entirely and surrenders himself back to the desperate kiss.

They break away after what feels like ages, and Hanamura stares at him with wide eyes like he can’t believe what he’s done, but also seems to be searching wordlessly for… what, approval?

Souji stares right back while he tries to catch his breath. “I thought you said you’d never done this before,” he says between pants. Hanamura just laughs, awkward and nervous, his cheeks flushing darker than the kiss left them.

“Uh, I haven’t, but I’ve had girlfriends before. Kissing you isn’t that different,” he admits, looking almost sheepish.

Souji smirks despite himself. “Did you think it would be?”

“Well…!” Hanamura begins, puffing up defensively, “I wouldn’t know. I mean, like, if it was _all_ the same as with girls, wouldn’t more guys… date other guys?” He falters, seeming to realize halfway through the statement just how ridiculous he sounds, and Souji actually laughs. It’s a _real_ laugh, too, not one of the ones he fakes when a businessman tells him a stupid joke and he’s obligated to find it funny, but an earnest amusement, one he hasn’t felt in a long time. When he’s finally done, he looks up and smiles, and Hanamura’s affronted expression melts into a smile, in a way that makes Souji’s chest tighten in a way he’s hasn’t felt in a long time. He covers for it quickly by straightening up and dipping his hand into Hanamura’s back pocket, fishing out his wallet and holding it up in front of his face.

“By the way,” he says, smirking, “I know you wouldn’t really have any way of knowing, but the rule is usually ‘money first, everything else after’.” He drops the wallet, and Hanamura scrambles to catch it, looking flustered again. Souji smiles and runs his thumb over Hanamura’s lips.

“But,” he continues, and is relieved when he’s able to slide into his next persona with ease, “if you kiss me like you just did again, I’ll forgive you. Deal?”

“Deal,” Hanamura murmurs, and closes the gap between them to seal their lips together again.

Souji isn’t sure if it’s possible to feel dread and relief at the same time, but somehow he does, because Hanamura’s kiss fills him with a warmth that he’s only heard about in stories, starting in his chest and spreading outwards. The feeling of his pants tightening isn’t anything new, but the way that this suddenly isn’t _enough_ , that he actively and wholeheartedly wants _more_ , is like nothing like he’s ever felt. Somewhere in the back of his hazy mind he knows he should be worried about it, but then Hanamura’s leg slides between his and Souji shamelessly grinds his hips into it, muffling a moan against the lips pressed to his.

Hanamura breaks away first, but stays close enough that their breath mixes hotly between them and their noses bump against one another. “Haha,” he laughs breathlessly. “Holy shit, Souji.”

The use of his name jars Souji so badly that he actually _flinches,_ but the movement also presses his thigh against Hanamura’s groin, and the shudder and groan he’s rewarded with as a result makes Souji instantly forget his surprise. Hanamura snickers to himself.

“I guess that settles that, then,” he murmurs, shaking his head.

“Settles what?” Souji asks, before he can stop himself. Another rule broken. _No asking clients things you don’t need to know about them._

Hanamura looks at him with a smile full of self-deprecation. “I’m kinda a textbook case, y’know? Had a crush on a guy back in middle school for a while, never really realized what it was, freaked out on a different friend in high school when he thought he might be into guys, the whole shebang. Classic, right? Buried it so far that it’s kinda coming back to bite me in the ass.” He pauses, and then snorts, and this time his amusement is more earnest. “Or, you know, kiss me on the mouth.”

Souji replies without thinking, “I could bite you on the ass, but that might be extra.”

Banter is not something he _does_ , not with clients, not unless he’s 300% sure it’s safe to do and something they want, or if the joke is both harmless and their personality suggests it might put them at ease. It’s not safe, because his customers are usually scared of being found out for one reason or another (married, not out, worried that their coworkers or boss might find out, cheating on a partner) and any sign that Souji’s taking it too lightly usually freaks them out.

But Hanamura _laughs_ , and Souji can’t help but stare as his face lights up with amusement, his eyes warm and bright. The anxiousness and fear flooding out of him is practically tangible, and as he calms down and the laughter leaves, Hanamura slumps a bit and gives him a grin that sends another flood of that same soothing yet disturbing warmth through him.

“Okay,” Hanamura says, composing himself as he fishes into his wallet. “How much?”

 

* * *

 

The sex is strange, but _good_ , too, and it’s good a way that Souji isn’t used to. He expected having to explain how to go about things to Yosuke, but he’s a surprisingly fast learner, and eager to please in a way that makes no sense.

 _Why worry about what I’m feeling?_ Souji silently asks the ceiling as Hanamura pushes further into him and asks him, “Is that okay?” for the fifth time since his back hit the bed. A less-charitable part of him wants to snap, “Of course I’m okay, I do this for a living, don’t I?!” as though Hanamura would need the reminder, but Souji has a feeling that’s not why he’s asking.

Hanamura had spent a _long_ time kissing him, to the point where Souji actually found himself getting frustrated, but just before he was about to speak up and hurry them along, Hanamura had asked him what came next. He then spent an even longer time with his fingers inside Souji, overly cautious at first, full of questions and hesitation and worry, until Souji convinced him that no, he was fine, and coaxed him into more until he was a hard, panting, shaking mess, and practically willing to beg Hanamura for his dick, money or no. Souji supposes there are bonuses to having to play teacher, because when he’d hissed a quiet “hurry up”, Hanamura hadn’t questioned him, just scrambled to get out of his pants.

Whether he wants to or not, he learns things about his clients when he’s with them, and Hanamura’s no exception. From the tiny, fearful comment at the end of his first voicemail, to every “Is that okay?”, Souji’s starting to put together an image in his mind of who Hanamura really is. He’s lonely, desperate, self-loathing but curious, full of one regret after another, and one of the biggest people-pleasers he’s ever seen, to the point where Souji has to wonder which one of them is really the whore, here?

He notices there’s moments where Hanamura stops, looks down, and seems to realize what he’s actually doing. His eyebrows knit, and he looks like he’s about to say something, and then a second later, his face smooths over with a strange sort of determination. Souji recognizes that series of expressions. He used to make them a lot, too, back when he was starting out.

He feels a little sick.

The thought that Hanamura would be _good at this_ is horrifying for reasons that Souji can’t put words to, and he shakes it off by focusing back on the job at hand. He arches his back, twists his hands into the sheets, and moans a little for effect, but the move—usually one that drives his clients wild—makes Hanamura stop and wrinkle his nose.

“Hey, could you…” He trails off, obviously hesitant to ask for anything. Souji finds himself getting annoyed all over again.

_You’re the damned paying customer, just tell me what I’m supposed to do already!_

“Yes?” He says instead, though it’s more of a struggle than usual to get his tone to come out even.

Hanamura looks at him guiltily. “Could you maybe not… fake it, like that?”

Souji’s heart gives a strange jolt in his chest and his blood runs cold as an inexplicable rush of adrenaline surges through him. An unfamiliar panic settles in. _How can he tell? Was it too obvious? Has it always been too obvious? Why hadn’t anyone said anything about it before, then?!_

There’s a voice in the back of his mind, one that Souji usually tries to ignore, that also snarls: _Who the hell cares if it’s fake?! What else did you expect?!_

Having gotten no response aside from a wide-eyed stare, Hanamura quickly attempts to talk through his anxiousness, but it’s like he’s somehow able to read Souji’s mind.

“L-Look, I get it. I do. This…” he looks down at the point where their bodies are still connected, and bites his lower lip for a moment before he continues. “It’s not ‘real’, right? You’re not my b—I mean, we’re not dating, and people probably always want you to just fake it. So they can close their eyes and pretend it’s real.”

Souji’s chest is tight, and he’s so stunned that he doesn’t reply.

Hanamura continues, “But it’s not. I mean, for all I know, you probably think I’m disgusting and hate my guts. You might not even like boys at all, right? How am I supposed to know? I don’t really know anything about you. The real you.”

“Hanamura,” Souji begins warningly, but he’s interrupted by a raised hand.

“Wait, please,” Hanamura says, and his voice has that twinge of desperation to it again, “sorry, but I just want… whatever’s real. Even if you hate it, even if I’m so terrible at this you can’t stand it, even if you can’t stand _me_ , I’d rather you just—”

Souji feels something inside of him snap.

“Why the hell am I here if you want something real?!” He interrupts, pulling away, feeling Yosuke slide out of him. Souji sits up, glaring right into his face. “No one paying for sex wants anything _real_ , they’re paying me to be whatever sick fucking fantasy they have!”

Hanamura looks shocked, and then upset, but Souji can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. It’s like Hanamura’s reached down inside him and pulled all his wiring apart, like his gaze alone is capable of unraveling him, like he _wants_ to see him fall apart, and Souji feels a fear and resentment he’s never known before boiling up inside him.

“You’re not paying me for _real_ , you’re paying me to figure out if you like fucking another guy in the ass so you can stop regretting never going after that guy you liked in middle school, and then for me to shut the fuck up about it and never talk to you again! You’re buying my body and my silence, that’s _all!_ What’s all this shit about the ‘real’ me?!”

“Souji, please—”

“As far as you’re concerned, there _is no real me!_ ”

“Souji—”

“ _Stop calling me that!_ ”

Souji’s never felt this way before, and he’s more than a little horrified by it, but he can’t stop. It’s like there’s a volcano inside him, bubbling up with words and poison that he’s had half-buried inside him for years. Were he in more control of himself, he might laugh at how stereotypical it sounds, but it’s only the voice in the back of his mind that cackles in delight.

_Poor little boy-whore, hiding behind sex for pay so no one can see the real him and reject it!_

“You want _real?_ ” Souji asks, pointing his finger right at Hanamura’s nose. “The _real me_ wants you to take what you’re here for and quit trying this head game crap, because whatever you’re after, it’s not going to work. I don’t know if you’re one of those idiots who thinks they can ‘save’ me or whatever, but I don’t _need_ saving!” He shoves Hanamura onto his back on the bed, and reaches back, grabbing him and stroking him roughly until he’s hard again—that’s one thing he likes about guys, they can usually get it up whether they want to or not—and then sinks back down onto him. Hanamura looks panicked, and tries to say something, but Souji leans forward and presses both his hands to his mouth.

“Shut up!” He hisses. “You wanted _real_ so bad, here it is! You’re right, I _don’t_ want to fucking do this, I want to get it over with so I can take your goddamn money, and I want you to stop fucking _talking_.”

Souji knows how to end things quickly. He squeezes at just the right moments, riding the length of Hanamura’s cock as fast as his legs will let him, driving him deep into his body over and over until the hips beneath him twitch and Hanamura groans against his palm. He pulls off right away, ignoring that his own dick is half-hard, and immediately heads for the bathroom to clean himself up.

The hotel room’s air is suffocating him, and he needs to get out as fast as possible.

He switches on the shower and gets in, glad that this hotel is cheap and the washcloth is made of shitty materials and threadbare in places, because it digs into his skin as he scrubs himself off.

His eyes are burning, and he knows on some level that they’ve been burning since he first felt something deep within him break back in that bedroom, but he ignores it, writes it off as crappily-filtered water from the shower, and steps out again. He dries himself quickly and (after a deep, steadying breath) returns to the bedroom and makes a beeline for his clothes.

Hanamura’s sitting on the edge of the bed, still naked, looking into the billfold of his wallet, and doesn’t say a word to him. Souji glances at him, and can’t stop his lip from twitching in annoyance as he buckles his belt.

“What, do you want your money back? Guess I’m not what you were expecting, after all.” He means it to come out more mockingly than it does, perhaps accompanied by a sneer, but instead even he’s surprised by how bitter he sounds.

Hanamura finally glances up, and the smile on his face is so sad and pathetically self-deprecating that Souji flinches. He holds out another stack of bills, which Souji eyes suspiciously, like it’s a trap.

“Here,” Hanamura says softly, as though the “no talking” rule is still in place and he’s afraid he’s going to be hit for speaking, “it’s a tip. You were right, I’m an idiot for expecting anything real from this.”

“Tch,” Souji snorts. “Guess you are capable of learning something important. Keep it, I don’t need your pity.” He turns and moves toward the door, but a hand on his shoulder stops him, and he shrugs it off violently and whirls around, mouth open to voice his indignation.

But then Hanamura’s mouth covers his, and his back hits the door, and Souji _shudders_. Hanamura grabs his wrists, holding him immobile for a few minutes as he kisses him, probing the inside of his mouth with his tongue with a confidence and aggression that makes Souji writhe against him.

Hanamura pulls away, and stuffs the yen notes into one of his hands.

“Then it’s for letting me do that,” he says, and then, to Souji’s surprise, he smiles a little. It’s another of his genuine—his _real_ —smiles, and he looks happy and sated in a way that at first brings back the odd warmth to Souji’s chest, then fills him with irritation. He gives Hanamura’s chest a shove.

“Screw you, Hanamura,” he mutters, but he pockets the bills anyway as he leaves.

 

* * *

 

“Hiya! You’ve reached Hanamura Yosuke’s voicemail! Sorry I can’t pick up, I’m probably at work or something. Leave a message, I’ll call you back as soon as I’m a free man!”

 _Beep_.

“Hi, this is, um… it’s Souji. I, ah, wanted to say I was sorry about what happened yesterday night. That was... so many kinds of uncalled for, I don’t even know where to begin. Listen, um… I’m… god, how do I even say this? I’m not sure what I was thinking, but that’s not how I usually am, I swear, I am way more well-adjusted than that, I just… I kind of…”

 _Beep_.

“To listen to your message, press 1. To re-record, press 2.”

_Beep._

“Hey, it’s Souji. I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday. That was really uncalled for, and I’m sorry. I… Listen, Hanamura— _Yosuke_ , before I had my little freak out, it was… it was good. Better than I thought it’d be. I just… I guess I just got scared. No one ever really wants to see the real me. I’m actually kind of boring. And, uh, hey, give me a call if you’re ever interested in seeing me again, okay?

...I totally get it if you’re not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for horrible porn plots with hideously realistic stories, and it's leading me to actually writing a multi-chaptered fic?! Holy shit. Let's see if I can finish it. I am planning to include the whole cast. We'll see if I can make it happen.
> 
> There will be more warnings that apply to these later on. I will add appropriate labels when they go up.
> 
> As usual, this could not have happened without ImpureImpulse. She's helped me plan several of the chapters, and I love her very much and owe her a lot of homecooked meals.


	2. Chie-chan

_Beep._

“Hi! My name’s Satonaka Chie! I’m 21 years old, I’ll be 22 in July, and I’m really into uh, pudding… yeah, pudding! And kung-fu movies and running, um, oh! You probably don’t need to know all that. Um, I saw your ad, and I wanted to know if, you know, you’d be willing to… Maybe meet up somewhere? I’ll pay, of course! I mean, I think you know that, but I just wanna be clear! Hm, I dunno how this stuff usually goes, so can you call me back and let me know if I need to, uh, get a hotel, or whatever? Sorry for the trouble! Oh, and than—”

_Beep._

 

* * *

 

Souji doesn’t usually slide right into first names with people he’s just met, but the girl who shows up at the hotel room is so undeniably a “Chie-chan” that one of the first things out of his mouth after “hello” and an invitation to come in is permission to call her that. She nearly drops her bag halfway through attempting to hang it up on the hook near the door.

“O-Oh, uh!” She stammers, fumbling with the bag strap until it’s secure and then turning to face him, her cheeks pink. “Sure! Um, that’s fine with me! Y-You can call me whatever you want, heh!”

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Souji says, in the most reassuring tone he has in his repertoire, “I’m here for you, and I’m not going to do anything to you that you don’t want.” He holds up his hands like he’s surrendering to her, but instead of relaxing, she seems to fidget even more.

“Th-That’s good,” she says, but she says it more to herself than to him, “I’m glad.”

“You’re glad,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow at her. She’s clearly a wreck, and he’s starting to privately wonder if this was worth his time. But nervousness isn’t new to him, either, and he knows he should try to be patient.

She flinches under his stare, and takes a step back. “Sorry, I’m just… I’m just really nervous.”

“I can see that,” he says, but he’s careful to keep his tone gentle, and moves to sit down on the bed. He pats the space next to him. “Why don’t you come sit down? I won’t touch you unless you say so, I promise.”

Chie stares at the spot on the bed like it’s on fire, and then she jerks and turns back to her bag in a hurry. Souji thinks she might just grab it and bolt, but instead she fishes out an envelope and brings it over to him, standing in front of where he’s sitting and holding it out in both hands.

“Uh, here!” She says, pushing it just a little too forcefully into his hands. “I might not know how a lot of this stuff works, but I know you’re supposed to get paid first and foremost, right? So, um, here. I hope it’s enough.”

He barely manages to avoid getting a papercut from the corner of the envelope, (which would be bad news for a lot of reasons he doesn’t feel like explaining to her; what kind of girl wants to be told that a papercut on a whore is asking for god-knows-what sort of bacteria?) and opens it to count the bills. It’s more than enough, and he sets it inside the drawer of the bedside table, then looks at her expectantly with a smile.

“So, what can I do for you, Chie-chan?”

She squirms in place, looks at the offered spot on the bed again, and then plops down next to him. He doesn’t touch her, as promised, and she takes a deep, long breath, and tries to look Souji in the eyes.

“I… don’t know,” she admits. “I think maybe this was a dumb idea.”

Souji feels his stomach twist in a mix of irritation and disappointment, but he just nods and reaches for the drawer again so he can give her the money back. She snatches a hand out—her reflexes are trained, she’s fast—and catches him by the wrist.

“Wait! Please. You can keep that. Sorry, I know I’m probably wasting your time.” She sighs, frowning at her lap and kicking her feet like she’s a grade-schooler. “Do you think it’s weird to both want to do something and also… not?”

_The guy on top of him smells like stale sweat and cheap beer, and the feel of his grubby, greasy hands on his hips makes Souji sort of feel like throwing up, but he looks up and catches sight of the nightstand, where a thick stack of yen notes stares back at him. His stomach calms, and he arches, presses his hips back, and moans, “More.”_

“Or like, want something, but not know if you want it for the right reasons?”

_This woman smells like tanning oil and expensive perfume, but Souji can’t detect either of those with the way she’s holding him between her legs, his face and nose buried between her vulva, her thighs locked around his ears and her long fingers twisted almost painfully in his hair. He struggles to work at her with his mouth and tongue, and when she comes her manicured nails scratch his scalp and the nape of his neck, but he leans into her hand all the same when she strokes his face and purrs, “Good boy.”_

“I think so,” he says.

He leans a little closer to her, peering into her face. “Chie-chan, please be honest with me. You’ve never been with a man before, have you?”

“Wha—” Chie flinches back from him, her eyes dinner plate-wide. “Wh-Wh-Whatever gave you that idea?!” She panics, arms flailing, but when he looks unmoved, she slumps forward, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them tightly.

“You’re right,” she sighs, “I haven’t.”

Souji’s got no idea why he’s doing this, but he scoots back on the bed, crossing his legs and looking at her. “Are you afraid of them?”

The glare he gets for that is startling in its intensity. “Not one bit!” She snaps, and then quickly falters again. “But, well. Maybe? But also, no… I mean, I like boys, boys are great! I can keep up with them, and—”

“And sometimes you worry you’re a little too much like them?” Souji interrupts, studying her face carefully. She looks surprised all over again, and twiddles her thumbs anxiously.

“Kind of. You’re really smart, Souji-kun.” She frowns. “It’s not that I’ve never had boys who liked me, but I mean… as you get older, they sort of… Most boys want girls that aren’t like me.”

Souji gives her a faint smile. “So what do we want, then?” He asks, and she blushes a little at his teasing, but continues anyway.

“Girly girls. Feminine girls. Girls with long black hair, who wear pretty red sweaters and like clothes and shoes and know how to dress and put on makeup—I mean, I wear it sometimes! But…”

“But makeup doesn’t cover up kung-fu movies.”

She wilts. “Yeah. And I kinda lied about the pudding thing when I called you. My favorite food is steak. Not the girliest thing ever, right? But I can’t help what I like.”

“So don’t.” Souji murmurs, and she looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Why pretend to like what you’re not into?”

(His hypocrisy is not lost on him.)

“How am I supposed to get a boyfriend that way?” She asks, seeming honestly lost, and he laughs a little.

“What do you need one of those for?”

Chie bites her lip.

Souji notices, and takes a stab in the dark, because “long black hair” and “pretty red sweaters” is more specific than it needs to be.

“Who is she?”

He knows he hit the jackpot when Chie’s spine goes ramrod straight, and she suddenly can’t look him in the eye at all anymore. She tugs at a loose thread on the end of her shorts, and gnaws at her lower lip with a ferocity that makes Souji worry she might make it bleed. After a long pause, Chie takes a deep breath.

“She’s my best friend in the whole world. And she’s feminine, and smart, and perfect wife material, and she’s _gorgeous_ , and I’m never gonna tell her.”

Souji dares to shift a bit closer to her, feeling a genuine pang of sympathy. “Why not?”

“She’s already got too much on her mind and too much to do. Her family’s got a business that keeps her really busy. Besides, she means too much to me as a friend, and if I tell her, wouldn’t I ruin all that?”

“What if she feels the same?”

“She wouldn’t,” Chie insists. “She’s got all kinds of guys knocking down her door all the time, asking her out on dates. She needs me to chase them all off.”

Souji’s not sure if his hunch is right, but he tries again anyway. “And how many of them has she actually said yes to?”

Chie stops, and frowns, and seems to have to think about this for longer than Souji assumed she’d have to. She looks up at him after a good thirty seconds or so, first seeming like she’s realized something, then like said realization has left her even more confused.

“None,” she admits. “She’s never gone out with a single one of them. And she’s never shown interest in any other boys, either. She just… she just hangs out with me all the time when she’s free.”

Without another word, Souji gets up from the bed, opens the drawer, and pulls out her envelope. He pushes it back into her hand, then grasps her shoulder and nudges her back toward the door.

“I think,” he says, as he gets her bag off the hook and hands it back to her, “that what you need isn’t me, or a boyfriend that you think is going to make a replacement for how you feel, it’s a good talk with her.”

“Huh?!” Chie yelps, as though she’s only just realized what’s happening, but by then Souji’s already opened the door and given her a light push into the hotel hallway. She whirls around, face flushed. “Wait, but—”

“Chie-chan,” Souji says, bending down so he’s at eye-level with her. “Call me later, and tell me how it goes, okay? That’s how you can pay me for today. And if she says no, we’ll try this again, and I owe you a huge apology.”

He shuts the door before she can utter another protest, and waits nearby until he hears her hesitant footsteps moving away toward the elevators.

It’s a shame, really, because he’d been hoping to eat something besides a cheap konbini meal with his earnings that evening, but he supposes one more wouldn’t kill him, and he can try again with someone else tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

_Beep._

“Hi Souji-kun! It’s Chie! Hey, I know we just talked earlier today. I, um, haven’t talked to her yet, but you’re totally right. I should. We’re best friends, we tell each other everything, and if I’m keeping this from her, it’s not really fair to either of us, right? I wanted to apologize for wasting your time, though, I know you’ve probably got better things to do than make me realize I should tell my best friend I have a huge crush on her, but I wanted to say—”

_Beep._

“HEY! Don’t cut me off, you stupid machine! Anyway, I wanted to say thanks. And sorry that this took two messages, I guess I’m still wasting your time, heh heh! I’m gonna see her later this week, so I’ll tell her then, promise! And I’ll call you back when she says yes. Oh, and… I hope that if you find someone you like, that you won’t be a nervous wreck like me. And that you won’t need to, um, not-hire someone to talk you into speaking up about it, and—”

_Beep._

“And that you won’t be afraid to be yourself when you do.”


	3. Amagi-san

**From:** Caged Bird  <YamatoYuriko@xxx-xxxx.co.jp>

 **To:** Skies are Grey  <KamiNiNaru@xxx-xxxx.co.jp>  

 **Subject:** Interested in an Appointment

Hello,

My name is Amagi. I saw your ad, and I would be interested in setting up an appointment with you. However, my current job leaves me with little to no free time. I understand that this is asking quite a bit of you, but if I were to wire you the money for a train ticket, would you perhaps be able to come to me? I live in Inaba and I’m the manager of my family’s inn. You’d be welcome to stay the night as a guest, if you like, and I’ll cover any expenses.

It’s all right if that’s asking too much, but you wouldn’t have to pay for anything while you were here, and I’d compensate you for your services on top of that, as well. Our inn does have a very nice hot spring, you’d be welcome to use, if that helps your decision.

Please let me know if that sounds acceptable, and thank you very much in advance.

Sincerely,

Amagi

 

* * *

 

 

Souji’s not sure why he decides to get on the train and go to Inaba, when normally a request like this would immediately put his guard up. A client he’s never met before, asking him via email to meet them out in the middle of nowhere sounds like a recipe for disaster, and Souji’s made enough bad decisions in the past to know better.

But something about Amagi’s email ate at him while he mulled over his response. The email made no mention of whether they were male or female, but the address—”Yamato Yuriko”—tells him he’s probably dealing with a woman, assuming the email isn’t any kind of red herring. “Caged Bird” tells him that’s unlikely, too, because anyone trying to fake him out would probably just make up a name instead of trying to be mysterious.

Call boys don’t really care for the mysterious, and Souji is no exception.

The train ride is long enough for Souji to consider the possibilities: the worst-case scenario is that his worries are all confirmed, but he was able to search on the internet for information about the supposed inn, and he doubted someone would bother compensating him for a train ticket if all they wanted to do was assault him. The more likely situation is that Amagi is an older woman (the fact that she’s an inn manager makes him think he’s probably dealing with someone at least 40) and is unhappy in her marriage, but too trapped by work or family obligations to leave. Maybe, Souji supposes, he’s being invited out for these specific days because her husband will be out of town. He can hope. For all the risks he’s taken, he’s managed to avoid ever running into someone’s partner when they’ve been cheating on them. It’s not really something to be _proud_ of, per se, but it’s kept him out of certain kinds of trouble.

Inaba’s the last stop on this particular line and Souji’s the only one left in the singular car as it pulls into the almost laughably small station. He grabs his bag and slings it easily over one shoulder as he steps onto the platform, adjusting it once as he pulls his phone out of his pocket to check on the directions Amagi had sent him. A cherry blossom petal falls onto his screen, and he looks up, realizing that the trees here are covered in beautiful pink blooms, and for a moment he’s taken aback by the scenery.

The town is quaint, but Souji enjoys how quiet it is. The breeze as he walks along the Samegawa smells clean and fresh, and he inhales a deep lungful of it as he stares out over the river. It’s nothing like being in the city, where the air is full of smog and cigarette smoke, and Souji can practically feel Tokyo’s toxins being pushed out of his lungs with every breath he takes of the clean country air.

The Amagi Inn is huge and unmistakable, both standing out from Inaba’s other buildings but also simultaneously suited to the landscape. It’s a bit off the main roads, and Souji actually finds himself a little tired as he reaches its front gates. Nervousness is normal for meeting first-time clients, but something about the ancient building intimidates him even more than usual, so he reverts to his usual tactic: thinking of the money and moving forward anyway.

He’d given Amagi a fake name to use on the reservation. It’s one he uses often, either with clients he doesn’t trust or when there’s going to be any kind of paper trail. There’s an older woman at the front desk in a kimono who bows to him as he steps into the entryway.

“Hello, I’m Narukami Yu,” Souji says as he approaches the desk, putting on his best charming smile. “I believe I have a reservation for tonight.” He wonders if this is Amagi he’s speaking to, but the woman shows no recognition on her face at his name, and glances down at the older-looking computer in front of her.

“Ah, yes, Narukami-sama,” the woman says, appearing to find the name on the list in front of her. She gives him a smile. “We’ve been expecting you. Your room is right this way.”

She leads him down a long hallway, past several rooms where he can hear raucous, drunken laughter. The woman leading him bows apologetically over his shoulder, presumably for the noise, but Souji waves a hand to let her know it doesn’t bother him. It almost makes the place less intimidating, since it reminds him of the hotels in the city.

“If I may inquire, what brings you to Inaba, Narukami-sama?” The hostess asks, as she kneels near the end of the hall and opens the door to the last room, bowing her head with an almost uncomfortable formality as Souji moves past her. He nods in thanks as he steps into the room.

“Oh, not much,” he replies, smiling to himself at a joke she wouldn’t understand. “I just hear the bird-watching is nice at this time of year.”

 

* * *

 

Dinner arrives, brought by a different girl this time, this one younger. He also wonders if this is Amagi, since in her communication she specified that she would likely be busy until very late at night, often having to help with the more day-to-day chores even if she was “supposed” to be above them as the manager. But the girl doesn’t do anything but drop off his dinner and ask if he needs anything else, showing no other signs of recognition that would tip him off. She departs quickly, probably needing to tend to other guests, so Souji opens the sliding door to the balcony and lets the cool night air inside as he eats food better than he’s had in years, listening to whatever insects and wildlife are wandering outside the inn’s borders.

Amagi told him she’d come to his room later in the evening, so he asks a passing employee when the hot spring hours are for men, and takes advantage of it. The springs are blissfully empty; even with the noise he’d heard coming up the hallway no one else seems to be visiting them, so he slips into the hot water and feels all the muscles in his back loosen.

His job is stressful. Objectively, he knows that, but even if sleeping with people for money isn’t easy, Souji tries not to think about it. Hundreds, thousands of other people do it all over the world, so there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be able to handle it. But the work is full of all sorts of risks, and as he sinks into the water and realizes how long it’s been since he’s allowed himself to relax like this, it’s a struggle not to let his mind wander into the dreaded “why am I still doing this” question.

Sucking in a deep breath, Souji sinks beneath the water, letting the heat and warmth envelope him, and tries to count the bubbles he makes as he exhales. It works well enough, and he gets out a while later feeling like a new man, changes back into his yukata, and heads back to his room to wait.

 

* * *

 

Heian-era poetry wasn’t a particularly riveting section of his high school career, but when the door to his room slides open and a young woman slips inside with a murmured “excuse me”, then turns to stand and face him, Souji’s starting to realize why there were so many poems about beautiful men and women in the moonlight. In that moment, he feels almost like a character out of one of those poems, though it’s difficult to stifle a sudden and highly inappropriate laugh at the thought. After all, weren’t the men supposed to visit the women, back then?

But the woman is the most stunning example of a traditional Japanese beauty that Souji’s ever seen, so gorgeous that he momentarily forgets his manners and openly stares. She’s tall, and her long, dark, and bone-straight hair frames her face and makes her seem almost as pale as a ghost. Her kimono suits her perfectly, and it’s the same color as the blossoms outside his balcony.

This _is Amagi?!_

Souji usually prides himself on his charm and his ability to summon up compliments no matter the situation, but the woman before him actually leaves him speechless. She has to take small steps due to the kimono, but still displays a stunning amount of grace as she crosses the floor and kneels across from him at his low table.

“You must be Narukami-sama,” she says, keeping her voice low. He knows the formality is just because he’s technically a guest at the inn, but being referred to that way by someone like her makes him uncomfortable in a way that makes his stomach churn.

“Please, um,” he begins, startled by how tongue-tied she’s made him already, “just call me Souji. That’s, ah… That’s my real name.”

He’s struggling to summon up his usual acting ability, and almost has a grasp on it when she looks up, smiles serenely at him, and murmurs, “Souji-kun, then.”

The blush that spreads across his cheeks makes him feel like he’s a schoolboy again. “Y-You must be Amagi-san,” he says, trying to steady his voice. He hardly believes it, even as he says it. Having been expecting a middle-aged inn manager, he’s not sure he can wrap his mind around this woman being the Amagi-san he was waiting for.  “Thank you for, uh, covering my expenses here.”

“It’s the least I could do,” she says, and bows her head to him. Souji feels his stomach flip-flop, and he takes a deep breath to ground himself again.

“Amagi-san, please. There’s no need to be so formal.” _I’m just a call boy, after all._

Amagi sits up and smiles sheepishly, an expression that humanizes her in a way that allows Souji to finally relax some. “I’m sorry,” she says, “it’s habit.”

She reaches into her sleeve, removing a beautifully-decorated envelope and setting it in front of her. Souji finds himself strangely entranced as her pale, slender hand emerges from the sleeve of her kimono to gently push it across the table toward him. He takes it with hands he can just barely keep from trembling. The paper feels handmade—probably by one of the local shops in town—and smells faintly of floral perfume. He checks inside. The amount they agreed on is tucked away within, and he sets the envelope on the ground next to him, carefully, like it might shatter if he’s too rough.

“Well,” Souji says, taking another deep breath as he sits up and leans toward the table. He’s unable to help himself, and grasps her hand gently, bending down to press his lips lightly to her knuckle. “Amagi-san, I’m at your service.”

She blushes and smiles, and Souji finally feels back in control of the situation. When he tries to meet her eyes, she looks away, and he finds himself unsure if the move is out of habit or shyness. He releases her hand.

“I’m sorry, it’s just...” she apologizes again with a sigh. “I don’t want to waste your time. Any more than I already have.”

“You aren’t wasting my time,” Souji says with an uncharacteristic earnestness. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed a break from the city until he was here, where the air is clear and the stars are actually visible at night. He doesn’t have to worry about where his next meal is coming from, and the envelope on the floor next to him is security for a little while. So he scoots closer, sitting a few centimeters apart from her at the table so they’re both looking out at the cherry trees, illuminated only by the stars and moon above, and touches the back of her hand with his fingers.

“We have all night, Amagi-san. So go on,” he urges. “Tell me.”

 

* * *

 

The story she weaves him sounds like something out of a fairytale. As the daughter of two very traditional parents intent on passing the management of the inn down to her from the day she was born, Amagi grew up with a lot of rules and—as a result of having to help during busy seasons that fell during everyone else’s breaks—never had much time for friends, save for one best friend she saw with a fair amount of regularity. Dating was out of the question, both with regards to time and her parents, but now that she had taken over the inn’s responsibilities, her mother and father were left with more time to themselves, and they’d recently taken to urging her to find a husband.

“I’ve never been with a boy before,” Amagi admits softly, looking down at her hands in her lap. “I haven’t even really thought about it until recently.”

Souji peers into her face. “You’re scared, and someone who’s paid to do whatever _you_ want is less scary than someone who thinks they’re entitled to you, right?”

She seems surprised by his response, but nods. “Yes,” she says, “I suppose that’s a lot of it. But I also want to know what I’m getting myself into, and whether or not I _need_ to be scared of it.”

He nods. It’s not the first time he’s been paid by a virgin, but somehow, Souji almost feels _guilty_ about Amagi. She’s gorgeous _and_ kind, and Souji can’t think of why anyone wouldn’t bend over backward to be with her and do anything she asked.

_He tries not to think about the men in his early days who wooed him with kind words, with gifts and promises and smiles, then turned out to be monsters behind closed doors. He’s long since stopped believing anyone who offers him anything but money, but still carries memories of hands—rough hands, violent hands, hands that mean him harm—tangled in his hair, squeezing his hips, bruising his wrists. Those hands sometimes awaken him in the middle of the night, and it’s only when the sweat he’s drenched in is cooling that he realizes the hands aren’t there anymore at all._

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Souji says, “not from me, at least.”

He’s got an idea. Standing, he crosses the room and pulls out the futon, laying it out carefully and smoothing it down. He settles down onto it, folding his legs beneath him, and then begins to remove his obi, and though he can see the look of surprise on her face out of the corner of his eye, he keeps the yukata carefully draped over himself as the belt slides away. Dipping his head, he ties the belt around his eyes, and the world goes dark.

“Here.” He faces in her general direction and holds up his hands. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to, but you can do whatever you like.”

There’s silence at first, and he worries he might have made things too strange for such a traditional-looking girl, but then he hears shifting fabric, and feels the shift of the blanket as she kneels down in front of him. _He’s_ the one who flinches when she first touches his face, her hands surprisingly rough for how delicate they seemed before, but her caress his gentle as she brushes his bangs away.

“You really can’t see me?” She asks. He shakes his head. Amagi grows bolder almost instantly, pulling the yukata away from his shoulders, running her fingers along his chest and his collarbone. He shivers in the cool air of the room, surprised by how intense even the lightest touch becomes when he can’t see the person in front of him. Her palms slide down his chest and she brushes over his nipples, and he doesn’t expect the gasp that escapes his lips. She giggles softly and strokes his shoulder.

“Are you cold? You’ve got goosebumps…”

He mumbles something about how no, he’s just sensitive there, and so her touches continue, light as butterflies grazing his skin. She spends a long time just exploring. It’s not long before he begins to react, making soft noises in the back of his throat when she pinches one of his nipples or runs her fingers through his hair. Keeping his hands to himself is proving to be more difficult than he’d originally thought it would be, but he knows and understands her nervousness, and so he shifts his palms beneath him to prevent temptation from overtaking his self-control while her palms ghost over what feels like every centimeter of his torso.

The thin cotton of his yukata makes it difficult to hide his reaction, though, and Amagi eventually turns her attention to that. Despite her newfound courage, she hesitates.

“May I…?” She trails off.

“Of course.”

Souji can’t quite bite back the gasp that escapes him when she runs her fingertips over him for the first time. It’s been a long, long time since anyone’s teased him like this, and while he manages to keep his hands tucked beneath him, his hips arch up into her hand and his lips part as he begins to pant. She leaves him covered by the cotton of the yukata for a long while, and for Souji it’s slow torment. He swallows, wanting to ask for more, but he’d already established that he was doing this for her comfort, and pressuring her to move along was exactly the opposite of that.

“Oh, it’s all wet here…” She murmurs, and when her thumb finds the head of his dick, he _whimpers_ , rolling his hips up into her hand to apply more pressure. The yukata slips away from his hips from the movement and the friction, and Amagi’s hand jerks away in response. Souji freezes. He’s afraid that was too much, too fast, too unexpected...

But then Amagi _laughs_.

She doesn’t just laugh, even, she _snorts_ , and then bursts into uncontrollable giggles, interspersed with snickers and gasps as she tries to breathe. He freezes, unsure of what to make of this reaction, his mind racing.  He isn’t particularly gifted in the pants department, but he also isn’t unusually _small_ or anything, either, and Amagi wouldn’t know the difference, anyway, right? His cheeks redden with indignance and embarrassment. Of all the reactions he’s had, he’s never been _laughed at_ before.

_What is so damned funny?!_

“Are… Are you sure you’re not cold?” Amagi gasps out between giggles, and Souji’s irritation turns into confusion. He turns his head in her direction, unable to see her face through the blindfold, but raising an eyebrow toward her anyway.

“What?”

Amagi guffaws again, and—her shyness apparently gone—she reaches out and grasps him gently, moving his foreskin a few times up and down, giggling the whole time. “Well, I mean, it’s… it’s got a little sweater!”

If he could see her, he’d be staring, but instead he feels his jaw drop. His virgin clients had reacted to his nudity with pleasure, with surprise, with nervousness, but never anything like this. The laughter was embarrassing at first, but now he’s got no clue what to make of it, and every time he thinks Amagi’s calming down she reaches out and touches him again, moving his foreskin along his shaft before bursting into a new round of decidedly unfeminine snickers, occasionally gasping out something about “its little winter coat”.

Souji isn’t a stranger to people not being what they seem, but he’s starting to think that this was one of the strangest personality switches he’d experienced.  (This was including the client who’d seemed like a perfectly nice and normal salaryman at first, then turned out to have a shoe fetish so powerful that he’d paid Souji enough for two months’ worth of groceries just to model different shoes for him while he took pictures of his feet.)

Finally, Amagi sucks in a deep breath and stifles the last of her laughter. “It’s cute,” she announces decisively, moving his foreskin around again, first back up over the head of his cock, and then back down. “When it’s down here, it kind of looks like it’s wearing a scarf!”

Souji has absolutely no idea how to respond to a statement like that, but Amagi doesn’t seem to mind. She continues playing with it, her touches braver, her grasp firmer around him, giving him enough friction and contact that he can’t complain, and before long he’s shuddering and moving his hips up into her palm. Eventually she moves away from his groin and grasps the cloth around his face, pulling it away, and looks down at him with a smile. She seems calmer now, much more at ease around him, and while her expression remains kind (albeit still faintly amused) he can tell that some of the layers of formality have fallen away, and the Amagi before him is much more herself now than she was when she first entered the room.

“Amagi-san…” he breathes, once again taken by her beauty, but she waves a hand at him dismissively.

“Yukiko,” she says. “Please, call me Yukiko.”

“Yukiko,” he repeats, and sits up. She doesn’t shy away from him when he moves closer, instead shrugging her shoulders out from her kimono and all its underlayers, letting them fall toward her sides and back. Her skin is milk-white and beautiful. Souji raises his hands toward her arms, pausing, looking up at her and silently asking for permission. She nods, and he runs his palms over her shoulders, arms, back, and chest, and she hums quietly under her breath when he does something she likes. Eventually, he ducks his head and buries his face into her breasts, kissing and nuzzling as he nudges her back onto the futon.

This time when she starts giggling, he can’t help but chuckle quietly himself.

 

* * *

 

Yukiko’s giggles continue throughout the night, and eventually Souji begins to find it endearing instead of just strange. She laughs especially hard when his face is between her legs, but the few times he pulls away to ask if he’s just tickling her instead of making her feel good, she shakes her head and pushes his head insistently back down, her fingers tangling in his hair. She’s never laughing _at_ him, and he’s not quite sure what—if anything—is so funny to her, but he stops questioning it when he sucks at just the right spot and she bursts into a fresh set of giggles interspersed with moans as she comes, her thighs tight around his ears. When she finally lets him come up for air, she’s breathless and still smiling, and Souji smiles back as she runs her fingers through his hair.

Sex is no different. She laughs each time he gets another finger inside her, she starts up her giggling again when she shows her how to put a condom on him, and she can’t stifle her snickers as he pushes inside her. But she’s clearly enjoying herself, and reassures him as such when he double and triple checks to make sure he’s not hurting her.

“It feels… haha!” She can’t even finish a full sentence, but she hooks her legs around his hips all the same, urging him to keep moving. “It feels— _snrk_ —good, Souji-kun.”

He sighs but smiles. “I’m glad,” he says, running his hands up her thighs and massaging her hips. She never bothered getting entirely undressed, but pushing the kimono aside is easy, and she’s a beautiful sight splayed out on the futon, even with her hands pressed to her face as she tries in vain to contain herself.

“You’re not just making fun of me?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer, and she giggles again, shaking her head.

“N-No, of course not, I just—heehee—I don’t know why I’m, ooh,” she squirms and tightens around him as he thrusts inside her, “I— _snrk_ —I just can’t stop…”

She comes twice more before he does, and each time she laughs through it, even as she arches into his body and digs her fingers into his back. When he finally finishes, she holds him there for a moment, stroking his face and hair and giggling. She compliments him breathlessly between snorts, telling him how nice he feels, how she didn’t know it could be this good, and then she squeezes him once and tells him that she hopes his “little friend in the sweater is warmer now” before cracking up all over again. He feels like he should be exasperated, but in the haze of his orgasm he finds himself just laughing quietly, too.

 

* * *

 

They watch the sunrise together, talking in low voices. She tells him more about her life and her family and confesses how trapped she’s always felt, but that she managed to get herself a business license just in case she ever needed to escape. Even having that, she explains, is comfort enough to get her through even the longest days.

Leaning into his shoulder, she looks up at him. “Do you have a backup plan too, Souji-kun?” She asks. His first instinct is to get annoyed at a question like that, but he bites back the reaction. She clearly means no harm by the question, and getting angry wouldn’t do either of them any good. He just shakes his head.

“No,” he admits, “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Oh,” she says, and looks apologetic. She reaches down and picks up his hand in hers, stroking his knuckles thoughtfully. “Well, if you ever need a change, you could come work here.”

The offer catches him by surprise, but it’s less the offer itself and more his inability to come up with any kind of coherent response. It’s an offer thrown out so casually, but somehow it means more to him than the dozen or so men that have promised him love and meals and affection for the rest of his life as long as he’d stay with them. The idea of being a kept boy is not at all appealing, but he finds himself touched by Yukiko’s offer of a job.

She misreads his silence. “O-Oh, of course, I wouldn’t be trying to keep you all to myself or anything! It’s just, well, we’re always busy in the summer especially, and you look like you could handle it—”

“Yukiko,” he interrupts, cupping her chin and leaning down to press their lips together lightly, “thank you. I’ll keep it in mind. Really.”

She smiles in relief and touches his face. Her laugh this time has no humor in it. “Well, maybe I’m not being entirely selfless about offering,” she admits. “I used to dream of a prince coming to rescue me, like in fairy tales. Like I was some princess trapped in a tower.”

“I’m not exactly prince material, I’m afraid.”

“No, but you are handsome enough.”

Souji laughs, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it again. “Ah, but I’m afraid, Princess Yukiko, that I am not a pure prince on a white horse. I’ve kissed far too many other princesses in this kingdom. And princes, for that matter.”

She bursts into a giggling fit at that, but also quickly calms down again as she looks toward the sun outside. “I used to think my best friend would be the one to come save me. But eventually I realized that I rely on her too much, and that I needed to climb down the tower myself.”

“And eventually you realized it wasn’t escape you wanted, just a rope ladder?” Souji suggests, quirking a brow. She nods.

“It helps, doesn’t it? Knowing you can leave when it gets to be too much?” She leans against him again. “I’m sure there’s a certain thrill in being saved, though.”

Souji gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “And I’m sure your best friend is better prince material than I, my lady.”

Yukiko nods, smiling to herself. “She is. She’s great. She’s so much stronger than I’ll ever be. But she also inspired me to take some initiative, and encouraged me to get the license. I owe her a lot.”

“Then she sounds like she’d be a much more suitable prince for you than I’d be.”

Yukiko glances at the clock and sighs, but stands up and turns to face him after fussing with her kimono. “You can be my knight, then. Can I call you Sir Souji?” She snickers. Souji shifts so he’s kneeling before her, playing along.

“You may call me whatever you like, my lady.”

“Then I declare you Sir Souji, my knight in no-armor-at-all.” She taps him on the head lightly. “And if Sir Souji ever gets tired of kissing princesses... and princes,” she pauses here, but doesn't ask, “then he’ll be demoted to the kitchens here.” Kneeling before him once more, she grasps his face and kisses him one last time.

“It’s not much of a rope ladder for your tower, though, is it?” She asks softly. Souji deflects her upset by smiling instead.

“Am I a knight or a princess?” He asks, and it works.

She smiles back. “Well, sometimes princesses have to rescue each other, I suppose.”

His instinct is to say something about not needing rescuing, but he holds it back. She rises back to her feet, straightening up briefly in the mirror, and then turns back to him. Her formal aura has returned, and he’s once again struck by her grace and beauty.

“I’ll be at the front desk. When you’re ready to leave, I’ll walk you to the station.” She says, and then she’s gone, and Souji feels like he’s waking up from a dream.

 

* * *

 

The Inaba air is clear and cool, and Souji breathes in deep one last time before stepping onto the train. He turns in the doorway to face Yukiko once more. She’d changed to walk with him to the station, into a plain skirt and a cardigan that’s a surprisingly bright shade of red. When he’d commented on it, she’d explained that her best friend—her “real prince”, Souji supposes—had always told her she looked best in red.

Yukiko smiles brightly. “Goodbye, Souji-kun,” she says. “And thank you for everything. Hopefully we’ll see each other again.”

“Hopefully,” he agrees, and for once in his life, he means it. Yukiko bows low, her long, black hair falling over the shoulders of her cardigan, and Souji is suddenly struck by something as the speakers announce that the train will be departing soon.

“ _Girls with long black hair, who wear pretty red sweaters…”_

“Yukiko,” he speaks up quickly, “your best friend… what’s her name?”

When she gives him a puzzled look, he just waves a hand. “Humor me, please, I’m curious,” he says. The train’s engine begins to hum and doors begin to close on him.

Over the deafening sound of the train whistle, hears Yukiko shout, “Her name is Chie!”

The doors shut, and Souji hopes that the tinted windows hide the surprise on his face.

 _Oops,_ he thinks.

After recovering from the shock, he moves to the back of the train, and waves to her. She waves back, and he watches her until she’s a red and black speck in the distance, then sits down for the rest of the ride back to the city. He glances at his phone, scrolling through his list of contacts. Oftentimes, he ends up deleting names; it doesn’t really matter, since he’s not the one who does the calling, usually, and anyone who wants to see him again hoards his number anyway. He highlights the newest listing, the one that says “Amagi-san”.

“ _Do you have a backup plan too, Souji-kun?_ ”

“ _Well, if you ever need a change, you could come work here.”_

“A rope ladder out of my tower, huh?” He murmurs to himself.

He changes her name in his phone to “Princess Yukiko”.

This number, he saves.

 

* * *

 

_Beep._

“You have two new messages. First message, from—”

“Amagi Yukiko.”

“—At 10:55 A.M.”

“Hello Souji-kun, this is Yukiko. I wanted to thank you again for coming to see me. I know that was a long trip, but I hope you enjoyed yourself at our Inn. I also wanted to say that you may not think of yourself as much of a prince, but I think in a way you helped save me, too. I think I'd still rather not get married, but if it comes to that, it's way less scary, now. I have time, and for now I'm much less afraid to try new things. And, um, at least with regards to your backup plan, I think you have time, too. Oh! I’m sorry, I need to go, I promised Chie I would meet her today. She had something she really wanted to talk to me about. But thank you again for everything. Don’t hesitate to call if you need something! Goodbye.”

“Next message, from—”

“Souji-kun! Souji-kun, it’s me, Chie—”

“—At 11:38 A.M.”

“SHE SAID YES!”

_Beep._


End file.
